


All The Bright Places

by RedTyrant



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Character Death, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Multiple chapters, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-26 00:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10775466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedTyrant/pseuds/RedTyrant
Summary: “He is oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium, and phosphorus. The same elements that are inside the rest of us, but I can't help thinking he's more than that and he's got other elements going on that no one's ever heard of, ones that make him stand apart from everybody else.”James "Bucky" Barnes and Steven Rogers find one another while standing on the edge.





	All The Bright Places

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [All The Bright Places](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/287490) by Jennifer Niven. 



> Based off the Novel: All The Bright Places by Jennifer Niven. Enjoy!

Bucky

_I am awake again. Day 6_

 

_Is today a good day to die?_

 

This is something I ask myself in the morning when I wake up. In fourth block when I'm trying, yet failing, to stay awake as Miss Hill drones on and on. At the supper table while passing Becca the peas. At night when my brain won't shut off, because there is just so much to think about.

_Is today the day?_

_If not today…_

_When?_

I am asking myself this now as I stand on a narrow ledge, six stories high from the ground. I'm so high up, I'm practically part of the sky. I look down to the pavement, and the world tilts. I close my eyes and enjoy the way the world spins. Maybe this time I'll do it... let the air carry me away. It will be like floating in a pool, drifting off until there's nothing.

I don't remember climbing up here. In fact, I don't remember much of anything before Sunday, at least not anything so far this winter. This happens every time… the blanking out, and waking up. I'm practically a magician, more astounding than those everyone spends money to go gape at. Now you see me, now you don't. You'd think I'd be use to this now, but this was the worse one yet. I wasn't just out for a few days, a week or two, no. I was out for the holidays. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years. I can't tell you how this was different than the others that had occurred, but I can tell you that I woke up feeling deader than usual. Awake, of course, but feeling drained. As if my blood was a feast to someone or something. This is my sixth day awake, and my first week back at school since November 14.

I open my eyes, and the ground is still there. Just as hard and permanent as before. I am in the bell tower of the high school, standing on a ledge that's no more than seven inches wide. What a sight I am to see. The tower is somewhat small, with only a few feet of concrete floor space on all sides of the tower. And, of course, there's this low stone railing. Which I've climbed over to get here.

My arms are outstretched as if I'm conducting a sermon and this entire town is my congregation. “ladies and gentlemen,” I shout, “Welcome to my death!” You might be expecting me to say “life”, because I have woken up after all. But it's only when I'm awake that I think about dying.

I am shouting in an old-school-preacher way, all jerking head and words that twitch and jump at the ends, and I almost lose my balance. I hold onto the railing behind me, happy no one seems to have noticed, because, let's face it, it's hard to look fearless when your clutching the railing like a chicken.

“I, James Barnes, being of unsound mind, do herby bequeath all my earthly possessions to Clint Barton and Wanda Maximoff, and my sister. Everyone else can go fuck themselves.”

Even though the bell has rung, some of my classmates are still milling around on the ground. It's the first week of the second semester of senior year, and all ready they're acting as if they're done and out of here. One of them look up in my direction, as if he heard me, but the others don't, either because they haven't spotted me or because they know I'm there and _Oh well, it's just dumb-ass Bucky._

Then his head turns away from me and he points at the sky. At first I think he's pointing at me, but it's at that moment I see him, a boy. He stands a few feet away on the other side of the tower, also out on the ledge, light-blond hair waving in the breeze. Even though it's January in New York, he is shoeless in socks, clutching onto his sneakers, and staring at either his feet or at the ground. It's hard to tell.. he seems frozen in place.

In my regular, nonpreacher voice, I say, as calmly as possible, “Take it from me, the worst thing you can do is look down.”

Very slowly, he turns his head toward me, and I know this guy, or at least I've seen him in the hallways. I can't resist; “Come here often? Because this is kind of my spot and I don't remember seeing you here before.”

He doesn't laugh or blink, just gazes out at me blankly. He tries to take a step back and his foot bumps the railing. He teeters a little, and before he can panic, I say, “I don't know what brings you up here, but to me the city looks prettier and the people look nicer and even the worst of them look kind. Even Natasha Romanov and Sam Wilson and that whole crowd you hang out with.”

His name is Steven… Something, or just Steve for short. He's football player popular, one of those guys you would never think of running into on a ledge six stories above the ground. He's extremely attractive, an all around American dream. Large eyes, nicely angled jaw, and lips that wants to curve into a perfect smile. He's a guy who dates girls like cheerleader Natasha Romanov, and sits with Tony Stark and the other jocks at lunch.

“But let's face it, we didn't come up here for the view. You're Steve, right?”

He blinks once, and I take that as a yes.

“James Barnes, but please call me Bucky. I think we had American History together last year.”

He blinks again.

“I wasn't as good at American history as you, but that's not why I'm up here. No offense if that's why you are. You're better at a lot of things than me, but pretty much everyone's better at things than I am, but it's okay, I'm fine with it. See, I excel at other, more importantly things… guitar, sex, and consistently disappointing my dad, to name a few.”

I keep talking, but I can tell I'm running out of steam. I need to take a piss, for one thing, and so my words aren't the only thing twitching. And two, it's starting to rain, which, in this temperature, will probably turn into sleet before it hits the ground.

“It's starting to rain.” I say, as if he doesn't know this. “I guess there's an argument to be made that the rain will wash away the blood, leaving us a neater mess to clean up than otherwise. But it's the mess part that's got me thinking. I'm not a vain person, but I am human, and I don't know about you, but I don't want to look like I've been run through a wood chipper at my funeral.”

He's shivering or shaking, I can't tell which, and so I slowly inch my way toward him, hoping I don't fall off before I get there, because the last thing I want to do is make a jackass out of myself in front of this guy. “I've made it clear I want cremation, but my mom doesn't believe in it.” And my dad will do whatever she says so he won't upset her any more than he already has, and besides, _You're far too young to think about this, you know your grandfather lived to be ninety-eight, we don't need to talk about that now, James, don't upset your mother._

“So it'll be an open coffin for me, which means if I jump, it ain't gonna be pretty. I like to have my face intact anyway. Two eyes, one mouth, one nose, a full set of teeth, which, if I'm honest, is one of my best features.” I smile so he can see what I mean. Everything where it should be, on the outside at least.

When he doesn't say anything, I go on inching and talking. “Most of all, I feel bad for the undertaker. What a fucking shitty job that much be anyway, but then to have to deal with an asshole like me?”

From down below someone yells, “Steve? Is that Steve up there?”

“Oh fuck.” He says, so low I barely hear it. “Ohfuckohfuckohfuck” The wind is blowing his shirt, and for moment, I think it’s going to blow him away.

There is a general buzzing from the ground, and I shout, “Don't try to save me! You'll only kill yourself!” Then I say, very low, just for him. “Here's what I think we should do.” I'm putting a foot away from him now. “I want you to throw your shoes towards the bell and then hold onto the rail, just grab right onto it, and once you've got it, lean against it and then lift your right foot up and over. Got that?”

He nods and almost loses his balance.

“Don't nod. And whatever you do, don't go the wrong way, and step forward instead of back. I'll count you off. On three.”

He throws his boots in the direction of the bell and they fall with a _thud, thud_ onto the concrete.

“One. Two. Three.”

He grips the stone and kind of props himself against it and then lifts his leg up and over so that he's sitting on the railing. He stares down at the ground and I can see that he's frozen again, and so I say, “Good. Great. Just stop looking down.” He slowly looks at me and then reaches for the floor of the bell tower with his right foot, and once he's found it, I say, “Now we get that left leg back over. Don't let go of the wall.” By now he's shaking so hard, but I watch his left foot join the right, and he's safe.

I gaze at the ground, which is now slick and damp, and I imagine myself lying there.

_I could just step off. It would be over in seconds. No more “dumb-ass Bucky.” No more hurt. No more nothing._

I try to get past the unexpected interruption of saving a life and return to the business at hand. For a minute, I can feel it: the sense of peace as my mind goes quiet m, like I'm already dead. I am weightless and free. Nothing and no one to fear, not even myself.

Then a voice from behind me says, “I want you to hold onto the rail, and once you've got it, lean against it and list your foot up and over.” Like that, I can feel the moment passing, maybe already passed, and now I t deems like a stupid idea, except for picturing the look on Starks’ face as I go sailing by him. I laugh at that thought. I laugh so hard I almost fall off, and this scares me… like, really scared me. I catch myself and Steve catches me as Natasha looks up. “Freak!” someone shouts. Natasha’s little group snickers. She cups her mouth and aims it skyward. “You okay, Steve?”

Steve leans over the railing, still holding onto my shoulders. “I'm okay.”

The door to the top of the stairs opens ever so slightly, and my best friend, Clint Barton, appears. He gets laid more than anyone else I know.

He says, “They're selling pizza today,” as if I wasn't standing on a ledge six stories above the ground, with my arms outstretched, and with Steve… Something holding onto my shoulders.

“Why don't you go ahead and get it over with, dumb-ass?” Brock Rumlow yells from below. More laughter.

 _Because I've got a date with your mother later_ , I think, but don't say because let's face it, it's lame, and also he will come up and beat my face in and then throw me off, and this defeats the point of just doing it myself.

Instead I shout, “Thanks for saving me, Steve. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't come along. I guess I'd be dead right now.”

The last face I see below belongs to my school counselor, Mr. Fury. As he glares up at me, I think, _Great. Just great._

I let Steve help me over the wall and onto the concrete. From below, there's a smattering of applause, not for me, but for Steve. The hero. Up close like this, I can see that his skinning smooth and clear. His eyes are blue with flecks of green and brown, that reminds me of fall. It's the eyes that get me. He's pretty tall also, I mean _tall._

“I was was just sitting there,” Steve says. “On the railing. I didn't come up here to-”

“Let me ask you something. Do you think there's such thing as a perfect day?”

“What?”

“A perfect day. Start to finish. When nothing terrible or sad or ordinary happens. Do you think it's possible?”

“I don't know.

“Have you even had one?”

“No.”

“I've never had one either, but I'm looking for it.”

He whispers “Thank you, Bucky Barnes.” Before giving me one of those smiles. A smile that reaches his eyes. He drops his voice ever so slightly, making it so that I can only hear him. “If you ever tell anyone about this…” He gives me a knowing look, his smile dropping. Carrying his sneakers, he hurries out the rain and down the old stairs that leads to the too-crowded and too-bright school hallways.

Clint watches him go and, as the door swings closes after him, he turns to me. “Man, why do you do that?”

“Because we all have to die someday. I just want to be prepared.” This isn't the reason, of course, but it will be enough for him to believe. The truth is that there's a lot of reasons, most of which changes daily. Clint may think it, but at least he doesn't say “Weirdo,” which is why he's my best friend. Other than that fact that I appreciate this about him, we don't have much in common.

_……_

 

“What the hell were you doing in the bell tower?”

The thing about Fury is that not only is he predictable, he gets to the point. I've known him since sophomore year.

“I wanted to see the view.”

“Were you planning to jump off?”

“Not on pizza day. Never on pizza day, which is one of the better days of the week.” I should mention that I am a brilliant deflector. So brilliant that I could get a full scholarship to college and major in it, except why bother? I've already mastered the art.

I wait for him to mention Steve, but instead he says, “I need to know if you were, or planning to, hurt yourself. No more of this bull-shitting. This could be a large lawsuit in my hands, and believe me when I tell you, I don't have that type of money to be sued. This holds true with whether you jump off the bell tower, or the Purina Tow-”

“The Purina tower. Now there's an idea.”

He squints at me. Fury doesn't believe in humor, especially ones that involve more sensitive topics. “Not funny, Mr. Barnes. This is not a joking matter.”

“No sir, sorry.”

“The thing suicides don't focus on is their wake. Not just your parents and siblings, but your girlfriends, your classmates, your teachers.” I like the fact that he seems to think I have many, many people depending on me. Including multiple girlfriends, but jokes on him. I don't even like girls.

“I was just messing around. I aggressive it was probably not the best way to spend first block.”

He picks up a flit and thumps it down in front of me. I wait as he flips through my file, his eyes skimming over the pages as he reads. I wonder if he's counting the days till summer.

“Do I need to call your mother?” He questions after the long stretch of silence.

“No. And again, no. Look, I know it was a stupid thing to do.” Fury gives me a long, hard, look. “I just wanted to know what it felt like to stand there and look down.  I would never jump from the bell tower.”

“If it happens again, if you so much as _think_ about it again, I call her. And you're doing to do a drug test.”

I try to sound my most sincere as I speak again. “I appreciate your concern, sir.” The last thing I was is a bigger, brighter, spotlight directed at me. “As for the whole drug thing-”

“It's non-negotiable. Our meetings will now be on Monday's and Friday’s from now until you graduate.” He continues to flip through my file now. “Let's discuss the end of last semester. Your misses four, almost five, weeks of school. Your mother says you were sick with the flu.”

“If that's what she says, what are you to argue?”

The fact is, I was sick. Not in the easily explained flu way. I'd much rather have the flu, chickenpox, mumps, anything but…

“-And I expect you to show up and stay out of trouble this semester.”

I nod absent-mindedly, “Yes, sir.”

“I'll arrange a drug test with the nurse.” Fury shuffles through a pile of pamphlets laying by his desk before setting them in front of my. I pick these pamphlets up, knowing right as I leave the room, they're heading straight for the trash.

I thank him because of the dark circles under his eyes and the smokers’ lines etched around his mouth. I gather my things and head off from his office.

   
Relieved that he never once mentioned Steve.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this first excerpt! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated (:


End file.
